I want my boys, I wailed to Grandmother

as she held my shuddering three-year-old self.

I’d been gone long enough

while my mother had baby twins,

and I missed my older brothers.

Grandpa said he’d buy me a doll,

so my aunts took me downtown.

Choose the biggest one, Grandpa can afford it.

But the biggest one wore yellow. I wanted pink.

Look at the big one again, they urged,

but I picked the one in pink.

I held the beautiful doll on the Liza Jane train

when Grandpa took me home. He held her

to help me down the steps at the station,

where he found someone to talk and talk

and talk to, as he always did.

My pink doll dropped. Her head broke.

My aunts thought Grandpa should buy me another.

He never did, but I didn’t care.

I was back home with my boys.